


Vapourware

by ranoutofrun



Series: Wares [1]
Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Tron 1982, Tron Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranoutofrun/pseuds/ranoutofrun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Written for the kinkmeme prompt that asked for Pre-Tron 1982 Tron/Clu 1 either with or without shippyness. I went a step further- It had been a long slow slide for his system, but Tron had stared each challenge down and come up on top. Now in the throes of the MCP’s rise to total power and control, he finds himself reluctantly allied to a rather unusual program, one that may just get the better of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A fleeting Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> TronKinkmeme Prompt by Anonymous ask for Clu1/Tron: 
> 
> _Before getting captured and taken to the Games, Tron is doing his duty and comes across one of the very things he's suppose to be taking care of: A hacker program. Clu needs to convince Tron there can be such a thing as a good hacker program; especially with a common enemy like the MCP_
> 
> _Is okay if doesn't actually go actual shippy/slashy, but there will be bonus Internets awarded if contains to heartbreaking allusions to What Might Have Been between them if poor Clu1 had not met his untimely demise._
> 
> Foreword:  
> This is my first fic Ive ever written, and it's taken almost a year. It's about one of the single most sane/plausible cracktacular pairing I could think of in this fandom. But it could happen, I suppose, if one of them didn’t like die in the first ten minutes of the movie and never actually have any relation to the other in any way possible.  
> CLU1 I’m trying to be faithful to his character, it’s hard, when they’re dead, in the first ten minutes (as said before).
> 
> On Chapter:  
> I like to think of this as a Lord of the Rings type exodus. Starts out slow, picks up speed in increasing intervals. Dense on the description. This chapters slow, its suppose to set the mood/setting of where the story and what period it is in. This is more to see different influences around the Encom system and how they affect each other.  
> So in conclusion it has typical Tron pacing problems, at least my story falls into the realm of consistency for the verse. Hopefully someone will enjoy this, that’s all I ask.
> 
> No characters or worlds are mine, and I do not claim them as such, they belong to Disney.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Chapter 1 - A Fleeting Glimpse

A disk hits a neon surface, rebounding back to its owner before repeating the same gesture. Slouching down on the opposite wall Tron continues to wait his frustration out, pounding the wall methodologically in frustration. The disk a mimic to his thoughts refracting in the little hole he was currently residing in.

He was tasked to protect and monitor the system from threats, and here he was hiding from a patrol of recently converted Recognizers en mass, courtesy of the MCP. He couldn’t defeat them. All he could do is wait.

The deep humming of the air assault passing overhead continues to drum into his CPU.

_‘What would Alan-1 think of me hiding?’_

His user would be disappointed, most likely angry. Though he knows in truth that there could be no more hard a person than himself. With a resounding last flick the disk lands particularly harsh on the block, so much as to bend and flicker momentarily before recoiling back to his hand.

_‘Damn.’_ How was he going to fix this?

A break to a silence answers him as a sign that it was finally time to move on. Replacing his disk he cautiously sets out uncovering himself from his onetime hidey hole, thanking the users that it was secreted away enough not to get noticed from the aerial patrols, though they would hardly notice a crack in the wall.

\---

Trekking through the monotonous fields of low clearance memory proved taxing on his run time. The large identical blocky stacks of various memory archives sat high around him as he wandered through hoping to make a break into a more habitable sector. 

This place was perfect to stealth through, flowing up into the more secured areas of this domain yet secreted away in a place that is deemed of little value in the eyes of the MCP and his mounting legions. The only con to this is its spartan energy reserves and a large case of micro sleep inducing monotony.

Finally the desolate crevassed environment breaks to a lengthy crosshatched gridway circuit. An unintentional smiles pulls in the corners of his face, finally something he enjoys. Pulling out his rod he is just about to rezz his light cycle when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. Turning round, he sees nothing. Cautious, he wanders back and looks down the passage he had just cleared, glaring into unoccupied space and scanning it intensely. 

Nothing. 

_‘Must have been a trick of the processor.’_

He notes that it has been some time since he’s had a decent energy refill and a proper power-down while he breaks the rod and rides away on the grid in his lightcycle.

\---

The next place he comes across, though more populated than the last edge sector, is brimming with low level guards and freshly converted programs that have renounced their users and have either converted their allegiance, too fearful of Sark and the MCP or have had their functions commandeered, resulting in the dazed looks around the place. This makes Tron despair as has systems culture is systematically stripped from them. _‘All for what?!’_ He is seeing more and more of this effect, seeping through. Though he may be a security program, he cannot change a program’s beliefs. The one true constant forcefully being quashed and deemed unnecessary, ludicrous and illegal. All praise or name of their users a violation, met with instant detainment and or derezolution. And if in the odd circumstance that they be missed, scornful discrimination is what soon follows.

He tucks away, making sure to become as inconspicuous as possible. A hard feat for a tall program decked out in heavy armored meshing. It’s true that it had only been a recent patch gifted by Alan-1 that has given him his current appearance and abilities. The only edge he had in this case is that he was not well recalled visually by the residence so far out of the primary sectors in the various domains. His name more a myth than any kind of concrete fact.

He has to get what he needs and go. It is a long journey to the next i/o tower, even a minor one which he finds to be a rarity so far out. With the added influx of converts, he is still hitting himself for being suckered into going so far out of reach of the primary state of operations when the MCP pounced with his raw aggression and blanket lock down on all regulation between system operations. 

He passes a datafront. It’s a place he thinks is some kind of energy bar, not uncommon in these parts, though there produce must be lacking by now. Rows of various types of programs and data pushers are sitting on stools along the refreshment distributors. The multitude of colors glowing brightly from within as they chat away their idle processing times, of what remains or simple sit in silence. Glasses of various hued energy accompany the programs around the space. He can’t hold in looking longingly at the beverages back, he really needed to re-energize. He spies a character lowering his eyes from his direction; hmm maybe he was fussed about him lagging in the doorway? He gives another quick glance to the individual before he decides that he should be moving on.

He looks up as he walks out. The shelf that the outskirts is cozily sitting under with the formation of the memory canyons he had just come from hazily in the distance, the drawback fades the rest into the murkiness of the clouds and the level above supporting the next sector plate further in. No towers from the main cityscape are seen, and therefore no data transport facilities.

Hitting a snag in his overall plan he walks out from the junction between the buildings going to spy a more comfortably nestled re-energizing station than the one he found before.

Pondering his options as he stalks around, a series of crackly effects interrupt the relatively calm atmosphere as a structure breaks apart somewhere out of his range of vision. The terror filled cries of panicking programs alerts his protocols to assess, protect and secure whatever was going on. A crowd of the fleeing run towards him, he swiftly dashes out of the panicked masses way before heading towards the place of incident.

A tribe of gridbugs catches his view along with several more courageous programs and a red donned enforcer as they try to mount a counter, and defend the buildings from further degradation. Some of them have stunning staffs in their hands, others their disks. Lashing out at the progressively growing swarm the brave but foolish programs are overrun by an intersecting group at their rear. 

Not even thinking, Tron runs up to defend them, his disk unconsciously ready in his hand. He aims at the furthest gridbug already attacking a programs leg, his disk spears through it before coming back to hand. The rest of them start to trail after him expectedly, feeling a more complex data algorithms to cannibalize, the group of defenders look back spotting the help, a quick look of recognition from the lone red program before they are back to striking at the now shrinking amass of legs.

Disk in hand, he launches and slashes left and right through the green quadrupeds with their shrieks piecing. Tron stifles a cry as yet another and last static strike from one of the bugs hits his leg, stinging from the impact he slams his disk into it as the others finish up the remnants of the last few. A quick glance shows the programs have similar injuries from the bugs but the largest exhibited effect being exhaustion in their stance. 

“Are you guys alright? That was an intense attack.” He asks.

The various programs check each other out, rolling through their own quick internal status reports. Several confirmations were heard. Tron keeps an eye out for more grid bugs, analyzing where a potential hive could be, while they finish up with the area and each other. The red enforcer looks hesitantly back at him, deep breaths evening out. 

“Hey there, thank you.” The red program says to him. 

Not expecting that kind of response he faces the program more directly risking him seeing his identity.

“You should go now. Others will be coming soon.” The unexpected warning clear.

The program looks around sharply, checking for his comrades. Only the programs that were defending this place seen presently, surrounded in debris of the weakened buildings the infestation were chewing on.

“I won’t say anything.” The red program encourages. “We can deal with it.” For some strange reason he seems to believe the program. He starts to walk away, and stops and turns toward the program to thank him. 

“Thank you. Be well.” He finishes.

Straightening out again and dashing off out of sight he keeps a vigil on the uncertain environment for other security measures and less understanding converts.

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know? He was very good though.”

“He looked like a security program.”

“No, he was an independent program.”

“Hey, I think that was Tron.” He just makes out the whisper of an echo.

He walks out of hearing range of the gossiping programs. Despite what the red enforcer said, he is hard to trust and yet feels he should at least comply with the advice of that individual. 

Time to leave.

_‘How do I always end up making myself so obvious?’_

\---

After that debacle, Tron made a concerted effort in taking an obscure route out of the place. Leading him through a crag of unrefined partition. Making it to the edge, the view breaks out into horizontal flat planes, curbing the vertical entrenchment of the settlement. 

Looking back stocky randomized pillars of file stores lick the edges of the dwellings and cathedral of tightly synchronized datafronts. He watches a stream of data clusters fly by in the distance making its scratchy racquet as it passes along on its run. This plethora of equalized discord makes it possible for programs to be cloaked unaware of dangerous glitches, unwanted programs or gridbugs that lurk around, scrambled by the incessant drum of cacophony pinging back by system queries.

It is in this case he finds the nature of the area to his disadvantage. He isn’t aware of the footsteps.

Without notice a small group of guards obscured from the very concerns he was calculating make headway towards him drawn by the notice of the fight earlier on. One lifts his red disk up, slicing it through the air towards its target, missing and in returns alerting the security program to them. Behind him he confirms the sight of three red guards approaching, the disk returning to its owner. Staves are up, deterring their adversary from approaching. This does not stop his counter disk attack. Tron strikes at the enemy disker, his chest breaking open and falls back into the ground destroyed. 

It is at this moment that the second disker makes to strike out with his disk. Tron rolls out of the way, dodging the glowing apparatus as his own disk recalls to his hand once more. He hurls the object but fails to dislodge the program as it bounces off the enemies own leaving the program vulnerable to a second hit. The disk directs this second assault above cleaving the neck on the disker before he could raise it in deflection again.

The last member of the group, a memory guard, lunges with the staff. He easily dodges and unbalances the cumbersome guard on the uneven ground and ends the programs life with a quick and final throw of his weapon.

A growing noise of red dots speckles the low-res landscape back towards the sectors small town he had just traversed from. 

“So much for a red’s word.”

He speedily drops down a couple of levels closer to the edge of the cliff face and starts his way down the high drop, grasping at each precarious foothold jutting from the surface. Hitting the cyan ground his next objective is finding cover away from the sights of his enemies. And he knows just the place to go.

\---

Underground. 

It isn’t all dark and mysterious underneath the drab monotones and other somber colors out in the wilderness. Just breaching past the jutting blocks of uneven ground he comes along to a bright circumference of power inlays. The foundations circuits, of what they look like from the inside at least. This specific area has a peculiar variation to most. It is accessible and transversal. I would be hard to forget such a spectacular secret such as this.

The under-channels convert and divide all energy between the greater portions of system space and by extension, the underlying functions of each area of space they stand on. These important aspects are what the MCP has been commandeering, the lifeblood of the system. Impossible for any single program and that’s what makes the MCP such an omnificent enemy.

One of the major routing connectors harbors nearly the entirety of energy for the outer sector he resides in currently. It also makes an excellent concealed pathway out of the place, back into waiting cityscape, and inevitably waiting enemies.

The cavernous tubed tunnels run for sectors, the bright neon lines illuminating the quiet passages of corded circuitry. Thick weaving tubes occupy the space running through the middle, leaving only minimal room along the uneven ‘footpaths’, though they go deeper through the inaccessible solid parts around him as well. The place could be called eerily calm, a different kind of desolate loneliness than the memory fields and long stretches of blank grey expanses.

With his digital signature dampened from the concentration of condensed energy, Tron didn’t have to be so weary of his enemies catching him out. Not very many programs knew of this secret network or how to access it. Courtesy of his fastidious explorative nature in his initial cycles he was first rezzed in. a security program can never have too many escape routes and backdoors and he had to know all of them. No threat would get the best of him if he had anything to do with it, his initial calculations cycled. He’s since mellowed on the adventures, too dangerous, but not for the reasons anyone would associate. The dangers to programs were often closer than he expected. Not very many programs are as bold, most programs had more sense than to go into unregulated space.

He follows on along the rocky surface twinkling underneath with every step and always accompanied by the singing ring of the high pressured energy conduit snaking through and around the under-passage. He thinks it almost sounds like a user’s voice.

It takes a fair while, especially on foot, but with a good distance made, he calculates the exit he needs to roughly take in order to place himself close to an I/O tower closer to the inner echelons. As he searches his memory for rough directions out of the conduit he spies ahead and is concerned at the sight of disturbed data clusters branching around the walls. Shimmering with static an eerie green permeates all around along the scan lines, with fractures spiraling around shatter points. Spotted throughout, the recognized sheers of gridbug hive entrances scatter the desecrated caverns, just in the wake of the significant branch of intersecting passageways that fork off on to different parts of the system and divide the energy flow to critical spots necessary for domain functionality. He readies his disk but after scoping the tunnels for several microcycles he senses no immediate presence as he treads cautiously ahead and eventually breaks away from the scarred area, making a note to quarantine and scour the area clean if an opportunity ever arrives in the future. 

Creeping further forward through the increasingly widening path, courteously of the grid bug damage, he emerges at an opening created by a defragmented breakage of the floor in the sector above with mounds of debris covering the rest of the under passage and, nothing more. _‘A dead end it seems.’_ The energy line follows through the filled passageway to continue on to the rest of the sector, no such luck for him. He looks up and sighs. _‘Guess it’s up.’_ Scrabbling up the jutting uneven debris, he makes it half way and out of the exit before another precarious step up, with more weight than the foot hold could take; a crack emits from the block and fragments off. It drops down through the hole with a noisy _clunk_ at each impact.  
He stills all his processes when the final _clunk_ hits the bottom scanning hard. The complete silence only marred by the quite hum of the underground route in the distance is all he hears as precious micros go by in wait. After a good deal of time goes by without an incursion, deeming it safe to proceed, he continues up the steep slope of defragmented flooring. Eventually the marring of the fractured surface evens out and the steady solid crosshatch of the surface comes into view under his hands. Giving a final Push up onto the ground and lifting himself up, he peers over the precipice double checking for any activity. Oddly, there is none.

\---

He soon makes his way into a section he calculates to be the mid-range of sectors preceding the central core close by to the hole he had just exited from. From what he could tell this was not a purposeful occurrence and in fact, if he remembered correctly he should have disembarked deeper into that central portion of this domain. 

_‘Damn gridbugs.’_ He thinks with a frown.

The gridbug incursion must have grown enough to make the surrounding surfaces increasingly unstable he calculates. From what he saw underneath, the few holes that lay scattered towards the end must pale in comparison to the network of corroded coding scattered underneath and inside the walls and floors surrounding him. Filled with grid hives and all these programs were unsuspecting….

The sharp rise of anger jumps up his circuits as they flare a vivid blue in response. This could have been avoided if security monitors were actually allowed to perform their jobs, _if **he** could do his job,_ and the MCP actually took care of the systems he is rapidly commandeering and not leaving them in shambles so thoughtlessly. What’s the point of acquiring so many if he didn’t take care of the ones he already has? Simply allocating sufficient resources was often enough to combat the gridbugs from frenzied heights of numbers. After this quick spiel in his processor he walks on, attempting to figure a route through the remaining half a sector, between him and the I/O tower steadily billowing its stream of light in the background.

The floor cracks open with a sudden rip as the mesh for the low res grey drops through to reveal one of the hives he had been calculating about. A breach through the floor from one of the disjointed abstract fractals from a hive shell pieced around and destabilizing the top layer of his foothold. _‘No, gridbugs don’t attack like that. Someone must have-‘_ He leaps out of the way only to be assaulted with a terrifying image that puts his CPU on pause for a nanocycle.

_**‘GRIDBUGS!’**_ The largest swarm of scuttling green he’s ever seen race towards them, ready to feast on their energy and data. He could destroy a few of them and then get overrun and deftly ripped apart- run, is the only viable action. 

Several of the bugs siphons catch him on the legs, each a sharp pain as the static bolts spike/strike however he manages to outrun the advancing swarm of mechanical anomalies.

They break off and turn in the other direction. They were not intently pursuing him anymore, a more desirable target accessed across the other side of him. Not taking any chances he withdraws as far as he could from the nest of bugs and runs directly into a red patrol unaware of the danger just a mere block and a half from their present coordinates. He only just picks a distorted voice up racing through, too late to identify the source.

“Where’d he go?” An echo bridges across faster than he could stop. The furthest red program finishes querying one of his patrol members. 

“Dunno.” The only cryptic answer out from his mouth. He hadn’t bothered to pick up the rest as the third member is almost ran down from his, dare he say, panicked response from the hoard of marauding bugs persistent predations. A few still clambering behind him. 

“Hey you!” The last and closest of them spots him after his almost collision in his haste in which he manages to safely swerve out in time. 

A lone grid bug meanders into view just where he had been. The reds surround him in a threatening stance but priorities reserve the greater threat from activating his more weathered judgment. He lunges his disk behind him and the green gridbug shatters, only to be replaced by another nanos after. The red programs are lost for words, still unified in their speechlessness, one of them manages to shrug of the pause and exert their modified task.

“Halt program!” The voice doesn’t quite hit the desired level of certainty.

“We need to leave now!” He desperately attempts to warn.

“The only leaving you’ll be doing is our staves!” The more aggressive one threatens.

He could fight out of this if need be. He’d much rather they get out so they can do something about the outbreak.

“You saw that! There must be more of them though!? I don’t want to get eaten by gridbugs!”

“You. Go check.” The ‘team leader’ he suspects orders the last ignored red who swiftly creeps round the crevice for half a micro before skipping back in a rush.

“Ahh! Grid bugs! Hordes of them!” The program’s eyes almost bulge out comically as the program tilts his head back from the gap. The vast majority had been swayed away for reasons unknown however a good squadron of them had trickled through to his position and were now dead set on their newest meals. “I think they saw me…!” The third red whispers to the group.

Getting rid of the bugs, or getting rid of these guys, he couldn’t do both at once. The programs once over between themselves and choose the logical choice, mutual retreat. They attempt to make a silent exit, any direction away from them would do. The reds would need heavy back up, and could not ignore this spectacular incursion. And he would be well away from this place by then; he may just keep these programs around. They had better use doing something productive, though he hates to leave from a rectifiable problem, again. But it’s simple. They have resources he does not.

And so they make their mad dash away from the gridbugs.

_‘Who disturbed the grid swarm to begin with?’_ He ponders overall.

As their dash settles down and they all feel satisfied with the distance traversed with only a manageable swarm to fend off, it is then that the red guards expectedly turn on him. The melee consisted of him tried to pry off grid bug legs and a manner of staff hits and with such close quarter fighting, the reds and assorted bugs had the upper hand. For once he had actually felt threatened, especially as he trips on a shattering grid bug that he disked in the face that had latched onto his mesh and surged his back. Glancing up intuitively he catches a sight above the combat on the buildings platform on top.

Gravity seemed to upend itself when a sudden tear emits through both audio and visual as an overhanging piece of the parallel structure pulls from its indexes which makes the whole integers collapse on itself. Directly underneath the rest of the melee was taking a dramatic turn with the red conscripts pushing him back when the sound quakes the area and for a nano he sees the faces of the now frantic programs and then they go under.

Chunks of the building rain down upon the frantic reds strategically and some of the remaining stray gridbugs in chunks of block and segregated cache holds, hitting each one head on, two duck and cover their shells only to be flattened and their data scattering back into the system in a catastrophic wave he sees when the debris settles. He felt slightly sorry for them; the users just had it in for them one way or another. _‘What a waste.’_ Thankful though that it had happened when it did. He looks back up at the place he saw the form he caught briefly before the collapse. Nothing but the same low-res grey is in view. He was definite about what he saw this time. Something came up on his brief scan. Nothing good at least.

He couldn’t dismiss the unusual program he had seen.


	2. Of Thieves and Castles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Written for the kinkmeme prompt that asked for Pre-Tron 1982 Tron/Clu 1 either with or without shippyness. I went a step further- It had been a long slow slide for his system, but Tron had stared each challenge down and come up on top. Now in the throes of the MCP’s rise to total power and control, he finds himself reluctantly allied to a rather unusual program, one that may just get the better of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TronKinkmeme Prompt by Anonymous ask for Clu1/Tron:
> 
> _Before getting captured and taken to the Games, Tron is doing his duty and comes across one of the very things he's suppose to be taking care of: A hacker program. Clu needs to convince Tron there can be such a thing as a good hacker program; especially with a common enemy like the MCP._
> 
> _Is okay if doesn't actually go actual shippy/slashy, but there will be bonus Internets awarded if contains to heartbreaking allusions to What Might Have Been between them if poor Clu1 had not met his untimely demise._
> 
> Foreword:  
> This is my first fic Ive ever written, and it's taken almost a year. It's about one of the single most sane/plausible cracktacular pairing I could think of in this fandom. But it could happen, I suppose, if one of them didn’t like die in the first ten minutes of the movie and never actually have any relation to the other in any way possible.  
> CLU1 I’m trying to be faithful to his character, it’s hard, when they’re dead, in the first ten minutes (as said before).
> 
> On Chapter:  
> Tron finally meets CLU for the first time. This can only go downhill for him, and any other who is in this programs path. This chapter was a hoot to write, but incidentally also one of my earlier chapters. It has been revised several times from then so it flows better with the others.  
> As this is in the mindset of a relatively young Tron, the way he performs and reacts won't always be consistent with his very much older self. (Not to mention he's a hypocrite) This isn't a case of OOC (but please tell me if it falls off the boat) but a case of differentiating through inexperience and a whole tonne less upgrades.  
> CLU would always be hard to write for as his character only existed for a few scenes in the start of the movie. I have read all the material that was produced with him in it and have tried to flesh out an actual person that he could have been. He has his own issues, quirks and biases in which you will see more in further chapters. I'm hoping he is not Mary-Sueish, this is what I have actively attempted to bypass. (Besides the smarminess, he's nothing like me)
> 
> No characters or worlds are mine, and I do not claim them as such, they belong to Disney.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

 

CHAPTER 2 – Of Thieves and Castles

A second event he would categorize as unusual occurred.

They were looking for something, that much is clear. He jumps down behind them from his perch, being far more cautious than he had been after the grid bug incident. He observes them but is content to hang simple because he knows well that the reds, though superior in number couldn’t stand a chance against his caliber of skill.

The four minor reds slink about distractedly, only spying him after several nanos had past. One of the reds jumps at the job where the others fail to react.

“Give up program and renounce your user beliefs or be prepared for termination.” The grim red announces, deducing from his increasingly less common blue hue. And the small fact of him being in unauthorized territory.

He’s being given a choice? That was new at least. He throws his disk and the program explodes into the light display, settling down across the other three’s meshes. _‘Why do they always come in packs?’_

He isn’t intimidated by any of these programs and he knows they will go down as easily as the other, everything is set up to funnel them through a narrowing passage between them which he resides in and he’s lined them up to do just that. They miraculously run head first into a force field, refracting back from the unrealized self-inflicted impact. It wasn’t there to his knowledge prior to his run through. If anything this made dealing with these reds difficult but at least he has the option to retreat now. Though alerted they will be. Fending off a growl of frustration he retreats with cautious haste.

_‘What were they doing here anyway?’_ They appeared to have stumbled onto him and their search prioritized to something else. _‘Like the other ones in the previous sector…’_ He thinks deeply, pondering the similarities of the instances.

\---

He had asked for a priority entry, he was denied naturally. He needed access onto a transport. User, a solar sailor would do. The programs refused and threatened to call for forces, how they remained with a passive expression with him glaring them down individually he can only calculate on. They tested his resolve. His own access was denied. It was valid too. He couldn’t attempt to sneak away on an outgoing transport either, which he was prepared to suck and do due to the fact that he had watched the last one leave for another domain only moments after he had been denied the first time (he hadn’t known that at the time). There were none due out or in for at least another one hundred and fifty microcycles. So he had left to instead do as he had originally planned, find an I/O Tower and commune with his user.

The flood of datapushers tested his perseverance at being polite if not at the least, tolerant. Their non-interactable status made them difficult under what he would believe normal circumstances, intolerable as of now as they pushed and barged along with not a process to other extensions around them, chattering between themselves or simply moving along with a blank expression on their faces. Several ones sitting down gave him a look for a nanocycle of two and that was it. They at least made good cover in the crowded echelons of the domains cityscape of which he was currently attempting to traverse through. Arduously at that.

_‘I need to get to that I/O Tower.’_ He calculates happily. _‘Alan-1 will know what to do.’_ He calculates as he walks on, staring at the tallest tower in the other end of the city’s skyline. It had been some time since he had made his last update with Alan-1, he couldn’t feel the usual pull of his call yet but he just knows that he is needed soon for something, _‘anything please’_.

Every few blocks he made through a red agent was seen, thankfully occupied most often than not, before he traveled down to a lower level composed of nothing but glowing vectors, closer to the residential circuits and other similarly allocated territory. It was then that he stumbles across a group of red guards coming out of a teal patterned tower with translucent windows and stairways, holding a number of scared programs being removed from their premises. There was nothing he could do at the moment but hold out of view and not get caught. He very much wanted to help them though hopefully they would be released. He doubts it though.

“Come on, move it!”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“That’s what they all say.” A few shocks were heard but nothing more, the captive programs keeping their heads down and shutting up.

The guard’s voices were getting closer so he scoots across behind a large pillar, his disc out in preparation for anything. He wants to make a move. He briefly twists his head to spot anything and glimpses a blur of yellow out of the corner of his eye from the opposite side where he’d been not long before, just as the group advances closer. The footsteps march past, close by, and echo into the distance long after he chases the sighting to where he had seen it. He wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t clashed so greatly with the base color of the area. Yellow wasn’t a common color sighted in this system. The odds of him seeing a similar program like that were slim, though given the distance he had traveled it could be possible… Scanning the area he spots nothing out of the ordinary.

He thinks it best to test out his offhanded calculation. No point on wasting time on possibilities when it could be mere coincidence, doubtful though it may be. Quickening his pace he makes to go further on ahead and then deviates with slow purposeful strides into the clustered residential lower levels, their paths slim and high, manageable for what he needs.

He broaches deeper into the sectors mid-tier and it’s not until he turns his second corner that he decided his observation was correct.

Turning a further corner, shifting his peripheral sight back towards where he past as he lays in wait for the unusual presence to come closer behind him, and thus luring him into view. He hugs the wall tightly, out of sight in the partial shadows of the grey low-res wall.

There he is again. Three separate occasions, three separate places. Was he being … stalked?

He shoots out of his groove in the wall when the form comes through and down his passage enough. “Identify yourself program.” He growls out, swiftly twisting around to face this possible threat and advancing rapidly.

His scan functions pinging back warnings of the trespassing nature of this particular program, an infiltrator, his signature not recognized or cataloged in his databanks. Any other would see a correct set of permissions, enough to fool even the most cautious of counter measures. However he was unfortunate enough to have encountered himself, barring the fact that he had been fooled this long already.

This program has no disk. So he’s not any kind of data gatherer catalog for this system and impossible for the inhabitants of this system with more than a modicum of processing power. That is barring these ‘games’ that he has heard tight lipped whispers about that have been going on in background system processes, of gladiators wielding their disks at each other in constant battle. This particular individual was defiantly no data pusher nor a low priority script. His methods too detailed his logic to keen. There lies a raw intelligence behind his rather unmapped exterior. A bit hovers faithfully by its side, a curious sight for a lone program, yet not uncommon.

Spying the fake clearances in his diagnostics his first command reactions are to subdue and control, derezz if need be. Intruder programs were exactly what he was designed to take care of, that and other forms of problematic algorithms and glitches interfering with the running of this system, when Sark’s thugs aren’t getting in the way. He had no qualms about throwing a disk at them.

Marching aggressively towards the golden program flanked by its bit; he mirrors him, backing away hastily as he attempts to apprehend the intruder. 

“Identify!” He calls again.

“I am CLU.”

“What is your function?” He demands again.

“Oh, I’m just a simple retrieval program, here to collect specific files for my user. Nothing special.”

CLU appeared to be alarmed but surprisingly staunch. This rubs all the wrong ways with his protocols. _‘Who is this?’_ He’s been sneaking around spying on him, perhaps working at reporting his position to the MCP’s forces. Maybe that’s why he’s been so inundated with reds recently. This program could break his cover, if hasn’t already. He needs to deal with this now.

As he proceeds to gait further towards this CLU the unrecognized program senses brewing trouble and bolts back through the narrow alleyways trying to lose him by seeking the clustered main upper levels to disperse itself in, in which he tricked him from leaving. The bit buzzes ahead of the program, its speed bringing it beyond his scope of vision and well in front of the other and out of any perceived danger.

As he runs to catch up to the other, swiftly strafing the twists and turns of intersecting alleys he had just come from, they were coming close to the crowded main echelons of data pusher and low priority program territory. He pulls his disk off his back throwing it in front at the fleeing target, a warning shot hits the side of the wall next to it’s head making it clear that the next will not miss. He is surprised when that does not stall this CLU or break his persistent dash.

Out of sight again, as his target heads past a corner, briefly he turns past it to find it vacant. Alarmed he looks around further spotting him on another bisecting platform a fair distance above. No stairway or elevation path existed. Brushing his confusion aside he gains momentum and runs the side of the walls jumping between them with fluid agility breaking higher ground never stopping, leaping onto the perpendicular way, a feat for any other. Meeting his view he catches his target slightly further up along the path accessing a panel linked to the serial constraints of this whole block with his hand, foreign symbols and algorithmic trees chatter as strings of raw code and other undecipherables are quickly altered.

_‘That explains the disappearing paths. A hacking utility then.’_ Exactly what he doesn’t want.

Catching up he rotates his disk making it circle deep as it is unleashed into the air. It impacts with the glowing floor near his targets feet, enough of a distraction to run up and grasp the tampering arm strongly, eliciting a cry of pain as he follows through, colliding his elbow into the base of the culprits chest all ending before his disk returns into his hand and forces it in front of its neck.

Then the floor drops out.

Fizzling out from underfoot in an array of dissipating light they each collide roughly back onto the next level. Perhaps he shouldn’t have interfered in mid-tampering from his target at that particular moment. 

_‘Yep, definitely a hacker.’_

The more robust out of the pair Tron gets to his feet first, readying himself for any questionable advances by the other.

“Why’d you go and do that for?” The golden program still recovering questions as he manages to level himself onto his feet again and adjusts his helmet back straight.

A hard grasp of CLU’s arm, he slams the slightly shorter form roughly into the opaque wall, hitting it harshly, helmet knocking the surface before sliding down as environmental parameters pull him down again. Twisting the same arm behind his back to turn him around slamming the hacker flat onto the floor on his back, disk held ready at his throat. It takes a nano for Tron’s awareness to click back in as he analyses the force in which he extruded against this program may have been a little excessive. He really rather does not like the sensation of falling. That platform was his own damn fault though he chides, and all he had done was run. But better to be cautious than to be dead.

He prepares to pile his strength into his voice, to intimidate the program his intention.

“Wow, your functions are impressive.” The launderer obliges, with a cautious chuckle.

Tron, not quite sure how to respond, clearly not expecting such a compliment from an apprehended illegal tries to regain control of the situation by giving his meanest face he can compile.

“Why were you following me?!” He demands un-amused.

“We appeared to have a common enemy, I was merely trailing you to get where I need to go. You were doing something right since you have not been caught yet, I deduced either by your knowledge of this system and its inhabitants and the fact that you are well equipped to deal with problematic occurrences.”

“So you _were_ following me! Seems pretty risky to tail someone who is written to take out intruders, like you.” Of course this program would know who and what he was if he were actually **from** here. Mythos or not.

“The risk was less than what it would be had I traversed alone at the time.” CLU replies. From all the reds and gridbugs garnered from his recent travel he was probably right.

By this time Tron spies the bit warily coming out of its hidey hole cajoled by the sound of its programs not-agonized cries. It hovers barely out of reach from him just in case, not that he could actually catch it if he wanted to when a bit is in a fritz.

“That’s because you’re an illegal program. And why you don’t have an identity disc.” True data retrievalists travel between domains and are required to have one.

“NO.” The Bit answered hastily.

“Not everyone has a disc you know…, I must have gone into the wrong system by mistake.” CLU retorts falsely.

“And I work for the MCP, a likely story.” Exasperated in offense at the slight to his processing core.

By this time the Bit was moving erratically, flustered and unsure as to how to act chanting no, no, no, no.

Tron just couldn’t believe his luck. How does this go from one bad thing to the next? It’s as if the users were real-time testing his processing facilities. First Recognizers, corrupted programs and gridbugs to rogue illegal software hanging around restricted archives and who knows what on his watch. 

The urge to just derezz him and be over it was strong but logically unnecessary at the current state of things. He couldn’t contain him anywhere either with the current regime. So far he didn’t appear to be much of a threat anyway.

Giving a heavy sigh, he lifts his disk from the hacker’s neck but keeps it at his side unsure still on what to designate this intruder under. He stands up and gives the program some room to do the same. The Bit shuts up finally, before proceeding to chatter yes, yes, yes, yes.

The annoying Bit was unprepared for Tron’s disk whacking it upside, catching it off-guard before yapping on again, its spirit unhampered by the assault.

“Can you turn your Bit off? He’s going to glitch me up in a nano.” He gestures with his occupied hand, as he rubs his face with the other. The visible flinch in the others eye evident.

“Bit, that’s enough.” The program commands. The bit silences.

“Now, out with an answer.” He demands.

“You are one with getting down to the point now aren’t you? I would have thought you would have at least thanked me for the save back between that processing unit and the city gridway.” He smiles at that.

“Just my luck, not only do I have the joy of an illegal program for company, he doesn’t even know who he’s been trailing. Hmm some skills you’ve got there. If you had known that your target was one of the most infamous and wanted programs on the system that anybody would have turned in to the MCP, you would have thought better sticking so closely to him.” The sly sarcastic grin muses at CLU’s obvious embarrassed confusion from his ignorance.

“And by the way, I had that under control.” He can’t help saying. Fending off a swarm of gridbugs and a plethora of guards at the same time took skills he knew he could rely on, all that program did was clean the situation up faster. He chides internally again because for once he knows that wasn’t entirely the case.

CLU bites back a reply, mulling over the revealed nature of his captor. Tron observes the shock. But that doesn’t last long as his lips pull up on the edges of his face, shoulders shrugging back as it becomes a calculating smile.

“And your personality is an amazing joy to be around to say the least.” CLU says thoughtfully.  
Tron can hear the stifled murmurs of CLU’s bit going no, no, no, no. It’s enough to stall his processing again.

***

This was absurd. 

After guiding his current prisoner into a more secluded area, away from possible prying eyes, he starts out with his formal interrogation only to receive a smarmy attitude, in a deceptively polite and helpful way. His bit just sitting their helping in frustrating him with little yes and no’s that his partner doesn’t stop from goading on. 

“We seem to be in somewhat of unequal field here. You know my designation and functioning, yet I have no title to apply to you, security program.”

With one last push he leads them into a dead-end alleyway. Only one exit point. Blue transparent neon blocks skirt the area, large enough to sit on, streaming in different positions in the vertical axis. And hidden.

“My designation is Tron. I fight for the Users.” He says proudly. Clear and truthful, he doesn’t even contemplate on what comes out. He knows it as certain as his functions given to him by Alan-1.

The intruder quips his eyebrow at that. At which statement though, he is not certain.

“Would it matter to you that I too fight for my user?” Replies CLU.

“I don’t believe you.” He says looking at the color of the program. A healthy glare with that is all that takes for the program to rethink his next choice of words.

Tron stands close to the hacker, arms folded, an unwavering gaze assessing for any opportunity or unscrupulous activity that his hostage may try. The bit hangs beside him silent. Thankfully. 

These types are excellent con-men coupled with their insidious recompiling techniques make for formidable adversaries, at a distance. Which is why he is rather confused as to this particular program which seems to have defied any logical reasoning. Trailing a security program, what was it thinking? Either it is deranged from being glitched up or it falls into the category of badly written and was simple too stupid for its own accord. Neither one seems to place right with him though from what he has observed and makes a decision to redraw what he knows about this one and come to an alternative conclusion after he’s recieved something more substantial from him.

That is until the unexpected comes out.

“I’m a reasonable program. Tell you what; if I relinquish some of my mission parameters will you at least here me out?” CLU obliges in his most compromising voice. Conman indeed.

“Ha, you mean what false data you can feed me, give me a break. You think I’m bitbrained, no hacking utility **ever** gives up anything to do with their User or their motives; they’re encrypted.”

“The worst you can do is derezz me. Why not _just_ take a chance and hear me out. I’m willing to do so.” A simple shrug of his shoulders follows his last words. 

Slightly stunned at the haphazard gambling attitude towards its life, Tron is somewhat struck by the comparison between advertisement programs that sometimes invade the system on occasion. He comes across as defiantly disregarding to the (by that stage) violent intentions of others as they spout out about future user products and services.

“Plus if you were so keen to put an end to this, why haven’t you taken care of me already?” He questions as he gestures in a wide arc, emphasizing the warranted query. He would have been mistaken for citing eagerness until one sees an aggrieved look in his eyes.

Tron glares, anger simmering, He can’t shake the ICE enforced logic that the hacker has tossed up in his defense. Why **hasn’t** he dealt with this yet?

Reassessing his reasoning, he asserts his previous postulation that observed so far he has not been a threat. He will not condemn a program to derezolution for no good reason. Extreme measures were neither justified nor beneficial in such an uncompromising situation. Such actions he has seen are of the territory of the MCP and his lackeys. His principles wouldn’t allow it. Either that or he’s in a glitched state right now, which he refuses. Alan-1 made him well. With a final sigh and a stern nod of the head he asks the program to go on.

“I really _am_ just a retrieval program, of sorts.” CLU affirms. _‘As they all are.’_ He thinks.

“My User has placed me with an important task. After testing my abilities in other systems he has deemed me ready for this greatest of all feats. I will not fail him. When I was placed into the ENCOM system I had a falsified clearance level and a genuine password. Unfortunately I came at a significant turnover of privileges.”

“The MCP.” A nod of CLU’s head confirmed his remark.

“My clearance had been suspended and was stuck with insufficient password approval between the second stack of high clearance memory archives, which I could not access by that time. Some of the security came sniffing and found me on a hijacked recognizer. To cut it short, I ‘misplaced’ the recognizer stole some permissions from various vital programs, and I was in need of a decent forgery or clearance I could lift off of high enough program. Or at least trail so I could get past. Thus the ‘stalking’.” 

“That’s nice, so are you going to tell me why I’m listening or has your encryption wired your mouth shut?” Not wanting to hear his resolution’s story. He wasn’t impressed. Did he really think he could steal something off of him? Or a recognizer?

“Something was stolen from him. I am here to, _liberate_ that information. Wherever it is.” The last part seemed to be more for itself than as a response to Tron’s interrogation. 

_‘Seems like this program has been hitting a few snags, well **good**.’_ He thinks.

“All I know is that it is vital, and somehow pertains to the MCP.” CLU holds his eyes aware that he had peeked his interest at the revelation. Whether it was true or not however was another thing altogether.

“What makes you think for one nano I believe this ‘story’ of yours?” He tests. Arms folded over with a leer in his eyes.

CLU’s confident persona makes a rather significant turn as he says this. His whole body language becoming nervous, the only genuine response he’s seen from the program, yet a clear look of resolve strikes his face despite the fear etched in it, uncompromising bravery to perhaps an uncertain future. 

“Would I make something like that up in my defense? I’m facing possible derezolution, why would I impede my own survival when my User is out there waiting for me to give him what he needs?” He makes a good argument. 

CLU pleads some more. “My User **needs** me. You should understand that.” He can hear the impending desperation under his words.

This hits close to Tron, trapped in a similar situation with only the deeply felt sense of failure from himself for his own user, Alan-1. Damn it, it can’t be a coincidence that he would use this particular issue he thinks. Users again, it’s the one weakness he has trouble absolving himself of, such a coincident that CLU uses this to manipulate a desirable outcome. 

“This is important, for both this system and my User.” This catches him in somewhat of a surprise, taken aback by yet more concealed information he has refrained from briefing him. 

“We can help each other, if you’re really unwilling to let me go. I’m willing to help you in your travels if I can be allowed to access a certain high clearance memory.”

It was a fair trade, but one that he doesn’t need, one that he doesn’t want. Especially from a program bent on rummaging through his system and stealing things under **his** watch, whoever the files may be under as of now. 

“That will not be necessary.” CLU didn’t look particularly confident on his next omission. He didn’t want to encourage his fears.  
He sighs. That’s enough. If he couldn’t get rid of him then, than he sure can’t rid the system of him now. He’s pretty sure after reviewing his actions he wasn’t going to derezz him to start off with despite what he may say to himself. Maybe he’ll just, let him go… he can be _Sark’s_ problem then. The edge of his mouth lifts up at that, seeing the irony of the juxtaposition of their roles come to fruition. Sark deserved it, let **him** be antagonized by this intruder then.

“Go.” With a swipe of his hand and a shrug of his head, he beckons the hacker off.

The named intruder stares blankly at him with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Go? - That’s it?”

“Why? Not satisfactory?”

“A nano ago you were prepared to derezz me, didn’t believe a word I just said and now you just say… go? I’m ok with that. I was just, kind of expecting more.”

“I have my disk in my hand you know.” He says in irritation, already regretting his haphazard decision.

“Yes, and your personality defect.” He catches CLU just barely audibly whisper out to the bit.

“What was that?”

“Nothing…”


End file.
